Meditations On Malachor
by All The Umbrellas In London
Summary: Various Jedi muse over the end of the Mandalorian War, and the fate of the woman who would one day be known as the Jedi Exile. Takes place immediately before, during and after the Battle of Malachor.


* * *

**MEDITATIONS ON MALACHOR**

* * *

The city surrounded her, filled her, revived her.

It not only covered her planet, it was the planet; its core, its crust, its very soul. Other than the polar ice caps and the mountains far to the east, the planet was city, and everything that came with it; soaring heights, the private dens of the rich and famous and powerful, plummeting depths, the warrens and hovels of the undesirables, and everything in between.

It was a world that could only rule and flourish, or fail and perish. It produced bureaucrats and politicians and the armies of people needed to support them, but it was entirely dependant on thousands of other worlds. This was an endless dance, a waltz of life on a world where nature had been driven back into nothingness.

The woman sat on a balcony, overlooking the city, kneeling quietly. Normally, she would have allowed the rising air thermals to capture her spirit, and send her soaring with the hawk-bats over the ecumenopolitan sprawl, among the unbelievably colossal spires, she would become, if only for a short time, one with the Force.

But not today.

Today, a slightly overcast one, with a high air quality quotient, her flight was halted, her wings clipped. Because of one person. On the other side of the galaxy though she was, the betrayal she had orchestrated still stung, was still an agonising mark on the Force, still burning with anger and bitter resentment.

And the day had come for that woman's downfall.

On the other side of the galaxy, the fate of billions was being fought over, between two of the greatest armies ever known. But, in reality, it would be that woman who decided how it would end. It was today that a war, that had killed billions, and displaced millions more, would reach its bloody climax, on and around a small, out of the way, planetoid called by those who were brave or foolish enough to set foot on its cracked and barren surface Malachor V.

It was there that that woman would fight for her soul. There that she would fail, and lose her connection to everything she had once had, everything she had ever had.

She would lose what it was to be a Jedi.

And so the woman on the balcony opened her eyes, resigned to the fact that she would not be able to meditate, not today. The wind caught some stray strands of her alabaster hair, and brushed them out of her face.

"Atris," came an old voice, the frailty of which belied the power and strength behind it. "Why are you here?"

Atris turned, and pulled her long hair back from her face, fastening it with an antique clip. "Master Vandar," she said with her customary seriousness and aplomb, turning to greet the wizened, orange-skinned tridactyl creature standing beside her. "What brings you to Coruscant?"

"This war," Vandar said, without a hint of emotion in his voice. "Near to empty, the academy on Dantooine is. Persuasive, Revan's word was. Around the galaxy, his dark tide is rising. But why are you here, Master Atris, and not in the War Room?"

"War Room." Atris muttered, nearly spitting with disgust. "Even its name is somehow…" she paused, searching for the correct word. "_False_."

Vandar sighed. "Far you have fallen, my friend. Do you not see? If she returns, and she will, sit in judgement you would; Vash, Vrook, Zez-Kai and Kavar as well. But you should _not_!" Vandar jabbed one of his twisted, stubby fingers at her. "Clear, your judgement is _not_!"

Atris looked down at the old Master, and anger gripped her. "You know _nothing_ of the betrayal I feel!"

Vandar shook his head. "Of course I do. My student, Revan was. Your student did not lead; follow, she did. Vandar reminded her, his thin white hair shifting in the breeze. As if Atris needed reminding.

"And is that not worse?" Atris asked, forcing herself to be calm.

"Worse? No. Charismatic, Revan was. Strong was his word. Besides, always in motion she was. Did you ever truly believe she would stay on Coruscant or Dantooine when attack the Cathar the Mandalorians did?" Vandar asked earnestly.

"No," Atris admitted. "No, I never believed that she would stay."

Vandar nodded.

"But to walk the path of the Dark Side?"

Vandar considered for a moment. "Path of the Dark Side, you say. Much anger I feel in you. Is that not a step along the Dark path?"

Atris did not answer, but Vandar knew his words had hit home. Finally, the woman said. "But what she is doing, what she has done… bringing death to millions in the name of the republic. She should have supported the Jedi first, not the Senate, or the Chancellor. Can you not see what she has destroyed, Master?"

Vandar considered for a moment before responding. "Serve the Republic she may, but a Jedi, she still is. And so is Revan, even if he no longer believes it. And despite the destruction, and the devastation, win the Republic will. Hours away is the final stand of the Mandalorian clans. The battle at Malachor is coming to a close."

Atris looked up. "She won."

"Strike the final blow, she will." Vandar agreed. "But survive she will not."

"No," Atris muttered. "She will survive, but she will be such an empty, hollow shell of what she had once been that she would wish for death. And the Force will abandon her for her crime, as will Revan and Malak and the Republic… She will wonder the Rim, searching for everything she lost." Even as she said it, she saw it. It came in a burst of clarity, a clear window into the future, and despite the constant swirling and eddying of the Force, Atris was positive that this vision would come to pass.

Positive.

"Abandon her, I will not." Vandar assured her, and Atris found she was grateful. "For if return she does, help her I would, but… she must unlearn what she has learned. Still, betrayed you she has, and it is _you_ who must forgive her. For now, forget this you must. Study the aspects of her case. Not as a teacher, not as a friend, but as a prosecutor."

"Of course." Atris adopted her historian's calm. "I will do as you suggest, master Vandar."

Vandar closed his eyes. "Lonna Vash, you, Zez-Kai Ell, Kavar, Vrook. It will be you five who sit in judgement of her, but judge fairly you must. And yes, master Atris, I sense that there is only one way for this to end." Vandar turned. "Farewell, my old friend." He began to walk away, the stick he used to support his thin, ancient form scraping across the deck.

Atris turned back to the city.

He was right. The war was coming to a close, and _she_ would end it. The Mandalorians would be stopped.

The dark times were coming.

* * *

Across the galaxy, the Jedi General who had taken the Republic fleet into battle above Malachor stood beside the Iridonian technician who had his finger on the switch that would end the Mandalorian Wars. 

"Detonate." The General ordered.

"Yes, General." The Iridonian reached onto the control surface, and fingered the switch. He flipped it.

In a glorious bang, the war ended.

And the dark times began.


End file.
